


Sabotage

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Guilt, Isolation, POV Second Person, Purple Prose, Purposely vague, Reader-Insert, Relationship(s), just having a Real Bad Time alright, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I can see it in your eyes like I taste your lips and,they both tell me that we're better than this.





	Sabotage

His threads of hope come muffled through the layers of your despair. You cower in your defenses, wrapped in your comforter and buried within the pillows creating your mountain of solitude. Shutting out the world, shutting out the noise, shutting out the possibility of safety.  
But his whispers come.  
They don’t make it to your ears, but you know he’s there. Maybe that’s something like enough.

Fat wet reminders you aren’t okay spill forward.  
It isn’t enough, but at least he’s there.

  
He pulls the blankets off your trembling shoulders, sweeps the pillows away from your head. You feel too exposed, the air chills and drives the knives of your burden further into your spine. You curl into a ball instinctually, but you want to recoil, knowing in the sag of the bed and the lilt in his sigh, he’s as tired as you are.

He’s stronger than you are. You are just an accidental opportunist, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

He cradles your struggling form against his welcoming chest, and you want to resist, you want to keep him from this just this once. Your body never obeys, and you fold into him, maybe out of habit, maybe out of selfishness, maybe out of spite - whatever it is, you know you shouldn’t have it. You’re orchestrating this puppet show from the stage and he doesn’t see the strings and wires, tangled in his heart, wrapped around his throat.

The way he says your name digs in your chest, the way he pleads hollows you out and singes your insides. With every careful, calculated incision, every searing truth that plays in your mind, you feel the edges of your heart curl and boil. You don’t know if it’s honest guilt or if it’s just performance art.

  
He brushes off your self mutilations like crumbs from a blanket, like they were nothing. He kisses your self deprecation as delicately as you. He counters your sabotage with warm hands and soft tones and patient eyes. He makes you cry, and you let him.

  
He loves you in spite of everything. You don’t know why.

You try not to think about it often.

When you do, it hurts.  
  


Because you already know.

  


He deserves better.

 


End file.
